Yellow

Do you see things differently than others? We all do. In Buddhism, kindness is put before all else. Kindness is amazing to share with others.

Someone told me a while back that once you decide to dislike someone everything they do upsets you and makes you responds negatively to them. Yes, it's a choice to dislike someone. And in my experience people are deliberately cruel thinking it will hurt that person... Reality is that person is oblivious to it. The only person you waste energy hurting is yourself. Perhaps if everyone realized that someone out there dislikes them too they'd try to be kinder. 

Who knows? Here's a 300 from my Hair series about seeing things anew.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Yellow

“Yellow, it’s yellow.” He says pulling at my hair like it’s strings and smirking. 

 

“It’s not.” I tell him with a jab to his side. Dropping my hand, I step backwards away from him. I can feel my defenses go up without warning. I want to be mad at his game today but I can’t. I know he’d barely gotten used to my brownish red and I changed again.

 

“Oh but it is. Looks like bumblebees and school buses collided on your head.” 

 

“It’s blonde. It’s like lemons and sunbeams.” I smile and wonder what he’s thinking about as I antagonize him. I usually let him win but not today. I don’t want to play but there’s no way I’m letting it go. 

 

Last week when we brought in the new window I let go of the cord on the curtains. The action felt completely foreign. It was a moment that I wanted to hold tighter and keep it into place. My instincts were to preserve the image of what we had built all this time together but knowing in the back of my mind it needed to change. Down they went into a puddle of fabric on the floor soaking up the tiny rays of sunshine. 

 

“I like sunshine.” He says and runs his hands through my hair before leaning in to smell it. “There’s hints of Vanilla but not lemons.” He pauses to look me in the eye for a moment that feels like forever. 

 

Just one look felt like forever when we first met. I could get lost in his eyes in front of the windows. Adding the curtains to the space seemed logical while removing them brought in so much light that I can see the hints of yellow in his eyes. 

 

“Yellow, they’re yellow” I tell him.

Trigger

Did the butler use the gun to kill the professor in the conservatory? Ever play Clue? This doll loves thinking games, logic puzzles and old friends that refuse to go away. One of my favorites is a magician that continues to be the wisest person I've had the pleasure to play against.

Something the magician taught me... Don't Play Manipulative Games with people. Why? You'll lose, even if you win. So rumors are interesting things but they're just a game someone's playing & loses when the truth is revealed. 

Here's another excerpt from the inauthentic life/the perspectives. If you don't know about the book, it's 6 years old, unpublished, re-edited 1-2 years back and still shelved because the timing is never right. There's nothing new about it or relevant to my current life; the characters & etc were all made up a long time ago. While I love rumors... I don't write about random people & it sounds silly to make any fiction about you when it's not... Unless its historically true. Anyhoo, there's a lil ol copyright on my blog that states & reinforces such if you need to get a clue. 

Do you make things about you when they aren't? 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Trigger

It's 7:15 on a rainy Thursday in this out of the way cafe somewhere called Hudson Point that's blasting Spandeau Ballet out into the cacophony of voices & smoke. The louder the crowd gets the quieter "slit-my-wrist" stereo gets. I come to life after the chorus breaks but not before the screaming. It's not until I'm coherent that I realize there's a girl standing three tables away screaming. I couldn't tell you how long she'd been there but she's not showing any signs of stopping.

"Oh that's a trigger..." Says Jemma before dropping the gun into the fish tank. Dead center in the room she's naked and standing next to a fish bowl with a goldfish while this cool cat Malcolm sneers at her but keeps taking photos. She's says he's amazing and all I want is a hit. That would be amazing. 

"Amazing," is what he says after I open the window letting in the wind & rain, pushing over the fish tank which shatters as the gun misfires killing the goldfish on the floor next to a naked screaming Jemma. But he keeps shooting. 

Persona

What a person says about others reflects more about them. Not actions, behaviors or etc. Altruism is one of my favorite things to see in others but ultimately it's in vain if you can't say nice things about others. 

Persona. An image that you present to others. For some to succeed they must accumulate as many followers, fans and etc. For myself, I've always believed that a person works hard, supports others hard work, practices and puts out their craft and ultimately it shows. Your value isn't based on who you know, what you are validated by or an image. Anyhoo, I was in LA last week and reminded that  The Perspectives/The Inauthenic Life is about due for a release after all this time... What do you think? 

Here's an excerpt from the perspective of Adrian whose head is always a pleasure to crawl inside of. No drugs or alcohol necessary to get into character. I've found my balance to my joy. It's no longer an addiction to create. 

Do you have a persona? Are you lost without it? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

PS: yes, the site is changing and soon the writing is moving in a sense. I will find ways to continue to share Architecture & Interiors, Style, Buddhism, Writing & photography. 

There’s No Dance Music in L.A. 

Lost. I’m lost on the highway and there’s nothing but a voice on the line. She’s been talking for a least a half hour. The woman on the line was calling and hanging up when I answered, so I stopped answering and put her on speaker. She hears me breathing and knows that someone is listening so she keeps talking. 

Confessing. Dying. Wallowing.

“Chloe, I’m sorry. I think I’m dying. I love you.” She says it with a conviction that tells me she’s not playing. I can feel you crying for her so I imagine Chloe is a bitch like Felicia to make you disappear. But you don’t. 

I released this beautiful voice to the road and decided to follow the setting sun because there’s nothing on the radio. I turned it off when the girl blowing me at the airport announced that “there’s no dance music in L.A.” and decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. I told her I wasn’t a DJ but she wasn’t amused about my being a musician so she climbed in the backseat for a nap after telling me to find Sunset. 

Somewhere on Sunset the lines on the road start to merge and the buildings around me are taller than I thought they’d be. I need a hit. But I keep driving. 

“There’s nothing like driving in L.A. to teach you patience,” Wayne said to me when we were stuck in traffic on the 405. It’s the only last real memory of Wayne that I can conjure up without thinking of the violence. 

Violence breaks the silence when the girl in the backseat starts screaming. I think she’s hurt or something but she’s just dreaming. This girl is dreaming of the terrible things that will come to take her away from living while the one on the phone is begging for something terrible to make her stop living

Walking into the house is like a dream. Wayne isn’t playing when he says, “time’s up” and goes over to the bar in his study. He’s making a Cognac on the rocks when Gina sits me down with a push of her hands on my shoulders. I’m not sober and you fucking left again. I can see the skull of that man Wayne “handled” last year. It was an “accident” but not the kind where people walk away. It’s something of reminder that Wayne keeps when people piss him off. He leaves it out on the table with all the implications that remain with it. It implies nothing but betrayal between best friends and love for your enemies. Somehow I can’t stop staring at the skull while I take a hit my brain starts to wander...

“Alas, Poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred…” 

The dialogue of Shakespeare snaps into my brain bringing with it the sharp and quick sting of a dagger being shoved through my skin. I can feel the memory of words crawl backwards within and there’s nothing I can do because I’m losing my mind without you. It’s nothing like I thought it would be like. You’re not here and I’m all alone. Just like that girl on the phone was when she was dying with her tears looking for her lover, Chloe and all this is happening. Happening. Happening when I look at the skull on the table. I can’t help but feel the pain of knowing that I didn’t know anyone. Not truly the way that man knew Yorick. He knew him and there’s nothing and no one that I can speak the same for. It’s like watching my body leave me behind and I no longer want another hit. I just wanted you gone. And now I’m alone.

I think of getting up and leaving the room and maybe I do because I feel like everyone is gone and I just wanted you gone because all you think about is her. I finally move because that fucking skull won’t stop reminding me of dying or losing you. 

“Where are you going?” Gina sings into my ear and I keep thinking I said something or that she’s reading my mind when the thought of finding you comes back into my head. 

“Fucking Adrian, where are you? Look at me! Come back!” Gina’s pissed but you’ve taken off waiting for me to find you again and it’s always like this when things become less than clear. 

Clear. The water in the bathtub is clear when I get in. Jemma watches me as I get into the water. I’m naked and I wonder as she’s still looking if she’s thinking that we’re sleeping together. I don’t want to sleep with Jemma. But I don’t stop her from getting into the tub with me. 

“Adrian…”

“Don’t talk Jemma,” I kiss her and tell her I miss her. It’s not a lie because I know you miss her. This means I miss her too. But I can’t feel that pain of loss. I’m just in the moment holding her. She’s trembling. I wish she wasn’t living this life. It’s hard to watch her stop being herself but it doesn’t matter. She’s in my arms and she’s my Jemina again. 

“I love you.” She looks in my eyes and says it before putting her head on my chest. I can feel her warm tears on my skin as she sobs. Between her tears and breathes I want to feel like I’m home but I can’t. I’m lost. 

I’m lost.

And I’m at the beginning of the one place I can’t remember being before I decided it didn’t matter if I found you. 

The Hollywood sign. 

It’s bigger and smaller than it looks and there’s a good chance you’re somewhere dancing with the reds while the bottle of pills stays empty in my pocket. I must have said something out loud because before I can look for another color of candy a voice reaches out into the night. 

“That’s not the Hollywood sign,” the stupid spoiled whore in the backseat who won’t blow me or get the fuck out of the rental car says. “You’re parked next to the billboard on Sunset that lights up for the tourists. It’s a fucking eyesore.” The little bitch shuts up and starts snoring again. It’s then I decide I need another car. 

Cloud 9

"How are you smiling & laughing, Monica? How can you be on cloud 9, full of energy & joy, didn't you hurt yourself? Two broken ribs is no laughing matter."

Someone told me this a month ago and I didn't know how to take it. So I kept smiling & thanked her for being concerned.

You see, I did hurt myself a few weeks back, very badly, still more than I care to admit. I honestly crossed "broke a bone" off my bucket list and compared war wound stories with a few of my friends. I won't glorify it because in reality it hurt like nothing else, I couldn't breathe most of the time, I couldn't eat a lot, it took me forever to walk anywhere, I couldn't sit up or drive for very long, I had to cancel plans, push back things & disappoint myself & a couple other people because of the injury. However the silver lining is that the process of healing while challenging did teach me a lot about self care, enjoying life & the simple joys again. I'm so happy to have found gratitude in it & be able to smile/laugh when it was frustrating because I was lucky the injury allowed some mobility.

In Buddhism we learn its up to us to decide how to deal with our reactions to situations, people & things we find unpleasant. You see those things are our greatest teachers. They show us when & how we react and how to release those emotions. Yeah we make mistakes and learn from them. I don't think my injuries, illnesses, or healing experiences are mistakes. I've learned so much from things not going to plan. So while some people can't see the point in smiling or laughing... I can because it's a choice. 

Here's a new 300 from the hair series about seeing things your own way.

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Improvement 

"It's not an improvement." he says as I look him in the eye from my reflection in the mirror.

"Compared to what?" I look away from him and up out of his gaze.

In the corner of the ceiling there's a small crack he was supposed to repair but he didn't see it. Now it's weepy with moisture from the rain. The rain that's continued since last Friday when I managed to twist my ankle walking to my car. Slipping in the rain because I couldn't see the puddle. 

"I don't know. I just didn't know what to say. I want to see it your way but I can't." He touches my shoulder. I can feel the smile on his face. He's playing and I know it's our game. 

Facing him after a change of color is always fun. Whether he loves or hates my hair he will try to be disagreeable. This time I'm more red than brown and he's not sold on it. Not the way he was the first time I was blonde, brown or red. Nonetheless he's trying to keep it fun.

"I love that you want to try." I reach up and touch his hand. 

"Besides your hair will grow out." He kisses my hand with a laugh.

"How can I trust what you see? You missed the crack and the roof is leaking." I jest and spin around to face him. 

"Your eyes can't be trusted for you to safely walk in the rain." He grabs my waist with both arms and pulls me close. 

"That's why I keep you around..."

"To maintain the ceiling or look over your shoulder?"

"Both and to see things differently when I can't. And besides it'll grow out..."

"That'll be an improvement."

"You love it..."

"I really do."

Easy

People often ask me about Buddhism and answers. Last year was like hitting the cross in the road. It was rough and hard to guide others because I had to go through my steps again to find & maintain my gratitude for life. I know that the creator and universe did not intend for me to suffer by erratic thoughts & impulses so I persevered through my journey seeking to find my balance.

My Buddhist experience is that true self love and compassion does compete or make demands for someone to change. It is not lost or mad without validation. There's no jealously, mean spiritedness or any need to belittle others because a person that loves themselves would never harm others nor would they allow anyone to harm to others for amusement. Furthermore there is no retaliation in compassion when you don't get your way. You accept another's journey no matter what, even when they are on a path far different from yours. It isn't personally about you, there are simply things in the universe that can not be any other way.

The truth that I can not teach you and you must learn on your own is that life is quite easy when you let it happen. And you must let it happen. You can only control yourself and that's the easiest thing in the world... And yes sometimes you don't need to be in control. ;)

Here's a 300 about Control from my series about hair.

Do you try to control others choices? How?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Third Reason 

“Third Reason.”

When he says it I thought there were only two. But he continues to drop the words onto the floor by the desk. The wooden one I so carefully refinished last week when he was too busy to come home on time; the time between the appointments I canceled to make time for him. The damage is done because I don’t trust him to keep his word when all he does is spill them over something that he has no right to contradict me over. 

“Fourth Reason,” he says trying to capture my eyes which have too long been focused on the desk. 

The desk he helped me pick out that windy Tuesday when the rain was absolutely breath-taking last month. A month before that, he loved the way I looked and there were no reasons to doubt my choices. Even when they disagreed with his, there were no reasons. Reasons cut through my mind trying to disassemble my logic. Sharp with the potential to harm, much like the scissors resting on the edge of the desk. The edge closest to the corner where my right hand rests. I imagine the grip of the handle nestled cooly between my fingers. 

I was left handed as a child and my mother switched my grip. At times I fumble with my right hand correcting for the dominance of the left. But not today.

It’s a brave new world before us. Before he can get out the fifth reason. I slide my left hand over to my right toward the scissors. With a determined grip I reach up and cut off a piece of my hair. His words come to a halt.  

One inch. Two inches. Three inches. Then Four. 

There are no more reasons why I shouldn’t cut my hair. 

Hand ~ Skin

Sometimes you get a hand when you're coping with life, loves, friendships, struggles, & broken hearts. And sometimes you have people make it about themselves which is also a hand you never saw holding you up.  

I applaud all creatives for sharing how they see the world. For those who internalize & identify with my writings on a personal level... Thank you for seeing yourself in my experience & vulnerabilities. It makes me feel more connected to the world knowing others feel the same especially when these are things that nearly break me to create. 

Here's another one about the lovers written without being in love from the series of love notes inspired by Tyler Knott's dreamy haiku's. 

Are you inspired by the world to create?

Do you write? Or draw? Or paint? Or sculpt? How do you express yourself?

Hand ~  Skin

The ghost 

Of your 

Touch...

Haunts my skin.

When you're away

Too long

I ache

For your...

Caress.

~m

Patient ~ Desire

Waiting.

Living.

Anticipating.

Knowing someday 

You'll find me.

These feelings grow 

In your absence. 

Longing for something

That has yet to be.

My heart

Wounded intentionally 

By imposters  
Aches.

Reassured only that it

Belongs truly to you.

Comforted by thoughts
Of when you'll be here.

I make my way forward 

Trusting that you'll reach me.

My heart starts to beat

Thinking of the sight of you.

I catch my breathe. 

Thinking of your touch.

I'm alive by mere thoughts

Of you

In my mind.

In you 

I've found myself desiring

The one thing 

I'm afraid of most.

To be possessed

Tied down and

Obedient to...

Someone.

~m.

Information ~ Unwanted

It's 11:15am. I'm pretty sure the ex ex ex that keeps calling me is a wasted version of binge-drunk hungry. He keeps leaving voice messages how he's stuck in town this morning needing a ride.

I don't want to know this information.

11:23. I don't know who gave him my number. Don't care. So I don't answer and block his call. I wanted to go to brunch and be alone to mull over the current affairs of things. 

The current affairs of things include an awful situation I'm not involved in but it keeps coming up anyways. Instead of talking to anyone about it, I decide to write about it while sipping an iced tea listening to a couple discuss Donald Trump's hair. 

I don't want to know this information.

Last week: A drive down the wrong street reveals a friend is cheating on his girlfriend.

I don't want to know this information.

This week: His girlfriend keeps accusing me.

It's not me.

I know who it is.

I feel awful.

I don't want to know this information. 

She keeps messaging me that I'm stealing him.

Telling me my life is perfect.

It's not me, my life is not perfect.

In all honesty I'm trying to steal another friends camera to shoot this evening.

I don't want to know this information. 

It's 11:33 and I can't believe the ex ex ex has resorted to emails. And the girlfriend is messaging me again. 

I'm alone, drinking iced tea, writing and I don't want to know this information. 

~m.

Special

“How do you do it, Monica? What makes you so special?” Says an acquaintance of mine the other day. I instantly correct them because I'm uncomfortable with the thought of myself being more special than anyone else. I know I'm special because I'm me but I don't consider myself superior or more unique than others. 

I'm a bit eccentric. I have isms and quirks that are my own. I'm creative because I have to be. I work a day job because it pays better than my college degrees. I'm hardly wealthy but I am able to afford to do things I want to on occasion without worry about money. I write & photograph but I'm not famous or trying to be. I wish to be successful and make a living at these things someday. 

I tend to do things to set myself apart but as far as special & unique goes, I'm special because there's only one of me. For the most part I'm the same decaying fleshbag predominately composed of water as the rest of you. Yet there is only one of me and one of you in this world. In that sense we may not be as unique as a snowflake but people are special and not meant to be treated as a thing, an object to be passed over or disposed of... 

Love yourself enough not to let someone make you feel less than special because you are and I am. Fuck em if they can't see it!

Here's an old one from the D series about a man that treated women as disposable objects only special by their superficial qualities. 

**the new part of the D series is coming and I can't believe it's taken 5 years to get it just right! 

How long have you waited to finish a piece of work? Was it special enough that you were patient? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Disposable

(2-17-2011)

Ephraim Rybe was a man who knew that nothing lasts forever. Because of this knowledge he wasted no time with anything. Ephraim kept himself moving at a constant rate to take it all in. He firmly believed that if you stayed in one place too long you might miss what’s coming next. Moderately the world moved around while Ephraim sped through it. He felt that everyone and everything was a portion sized serving meant for consumption at the most appropriate time. Everything in its specific amount of time. No more. No less.

And he came to this understanding by a lesson life once handed him. A lesson that no one ever forgets. Ephraim had once been engaged to a lovely young woman. A beauty known throughout any and all of his circles. However, it was not to last. The young woman decidedly broke the agreement for their pending nuptials and left Ephraim moving on and on by wanting less and less.

Despite his unfulfilled destiny, Ephraim Rybe had been known to be quite the ladies man in certain circles. A many times confirmed bachelor he had a new gal pal on his arm every week. And it wasn’t for a lack of interest in the opposite sex that he continued in this manner. In fact it was Ephraim’s distinct fascination with women that kept his interest peaked consistently.

More.

Some women will tell you they love a man with ambition. That it’s refreshing to meet a man that knows wants and wants more of it. Ephraim Rybe wasn’t that sort of man. He always wanted more but less and less of what was involved in that equation. He was never satisfied by one woman when he could have five, six, seven or eight. Tonya, Felicia, Amber, Tiffany, Renee, Sandy, Mae, Claire. There were so many more than he often kept a list. The list continued onward and grew by five more every time one name dropped off.

A man will tell you that his idea of a perfect woman might be the combination of some supermodels with a few characteristics of his mom. And Ephraim Rybe wasn’t one of those men. He didn’t believe in the existence of a perfect woman for him. The idea of some epitomized goddess seemed like complete horseshit when he had his list. Ephraim repeatedly thought why settle on one when there’s always the next girl to fill that void. At current he could decidedly pick from a few different girls to fulfill these needs that other men want in one.

If he wanted to bed a supermodels ass he could call Christine. When needing to talk about his feelings with a sensitive matron he could dine with Anna. For the eyes and lips of an angel came Claudia. An ideal woman mattered very little when he could have a single serving portion of variation whenever he wanted. And soon enough he would be rotating in another set. The changeover had become a necessary a change routine. Some women loose their charm the same way eating the same meal does. There wasn’t an exact science to it, only that they needed to go when they lost their flavor. And it was never the quite the same flaw.

Some had too much hair while others had too little. Some appeared tall while they were really short. Others had laughs like hyenas when others giggled in a way that sounded like a drowning puppy. It wasn’t that any of those things made then unattractive. It wasn’t that at all, it was only an excuse to move onto something else.

To ask this man what he wanted from these women would be meaningless. He wanted nothing in particular from any of these girls, only to make sure that there would always be one coming next. Beat the disposable woman to the plate. Leave her before she can leave you. And he had it down to a science. From the looks of any new woman he could tell you how long he’d spend time with her. Knowing full well how long he would take before he used her up. Ephraim didn’t care if a woman knew she was getting the boot. He figured he was gifting her with some knowledge. In a sort of sick way he thought he was sparing a woman the trouble of getting attached when things were already over.

Next.

Onto the next one. And without much to it, I just so happened to be next. The next on his list. I happen to have had my fair share of experience dating men with eccentricities.  Although none of which included beating someone to the punch of heartbreak. To be perfectly honest, “no” wasn’t an option with Ephraim. Ephraim pressed and pursued very insistent that I be at the top of his agenda. When Ephraim told me that our involvement would last exactly two dates and a few rolls in the sack, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not. So I laughed even though Ephraim seemed quite serious. But I went along with it.

Going with the ride longer than he said. Long enough to know about the others which soon revealed more than I needed to know about the situation. You see there are some men who will tell you that they’re seeing other people. While others will lie about it. And then some want to pretend that there’s nothing before you happened to them because its taboo. Ephraim wasn’t at all like that. He kept things as real as possible. Too much real as a matter of fact. He nodded and smiled when he said there were others. It wasn’t news to me, but I could hardly contain what it all meant until he explained.

On an interesting cab ride back to his place, Ephraim took the time, that he never takes to explain about the others. Others that shouldn’t have been mentioned but needed to be explained once they had. And I insisted on knowing and encouraging. A curiosity that couldn’t be quenched once he’d mentioned it.

Something that I didn’t need to know as it never left my mind. The thought of being disposable and simply replaceable seemed to overwhelm my mind with thoughts that didn’t matter. The openness of his confession put him at ease and sent me wondering. I was consumed by the growing thought that nothing I did mattered in the slightest as he was already three deep into his next list of women.

The last night while he leaned in to kiss my neck, I sat thinking about Ephraim talk about the next one, Shelly or Sheila before telling me about Olga the dancer he had met after lunch with Hera. Somewhere between lunch and dinner, he’d been making arrangements with another woman and all I’d been doing was deciding what shoes matched with my new dress. My attention to him was disposable. It had simply been a choice of who to take home tonight.

Where did I fit on this uninvolved man’s list of disposable creatures? Not that it mattered in the slightest. His hands between my thighs mattered in the least. They mattered as much as which number of choice my Spinach salad ala carte with raspberry vinaigrette had been from dinner.

Ephraim wasted no time moving downward with his focus. Already thinking ahead, quickly his kisses found their way to my legs and I let him keep moving inward to work. It wouldn’t be long before it was over and I was merely someone else. And the more and more he pressed into things, the more I wondered about his list of women.

Even when Ephraim was moving his mouth in a rhythm all his own inside of me, I kept wondering the same thing: Would he be doing this dance with the dancer tomorrow night or the next. To Ephraim this was practice and preparation for the next act, with Olga, Hera, Shelly or someone else. When it became clear to me that I was no one’s trial run, I would get what I came for and leave him with none.

Closer and closer until the moment of release comes and goes. His arms find themselves around my waist when I say “Thank you, that was amazing. I’m done” and sweetly pat his face. His eyes look with alarm and his heart starts to race. Ephraim says “it’s my turn?” with the serious stare. His lips trembling waiting for something else when I tell him “there’s none.” So I tell him “I really have to go but I’ll get you later. Maybe next time. You understand?” and watch his thoughts crawl inside his head. I wait for something, anything to be said. When there is nothing I tell him “thank you again for understanding. I’m sure you can make other plans. After all you have Olga, Hera or Shelly.”  What more could a man need? And with that thought I left that impermanent man with his list of disposable women.

While Ephraim Rybe was too busy worrying about missing what would happen next he completely missed it without a thought of permanence because he couldn’t understand the meaning of disposable when it looked him back in the face.

Absolve

You can't blame yourself for what happens to someone else unless you did it. It's not your fault unless you purposely & intentionally caused them pain. Even if you broke their heart once, remember you are only responsible for the one time and not all future pain. It's the universe's plan that they experience their journey. But you can apologize if you ever hurt them. It helps. Realize feelings have to evolve & we have to experience things. But we can't stop feeling them though. They are part of the process.

Relationships are hard. I'm also certain that not everyone one is prepared to be in one. All people can do is be happy with themselves and hope someone someday will care for their quirks & idiosyncrasies and be willing to take the good with the bad.

Anyhow... Here's a story about pointing fingers.

Do you blame yourself or do you blame others?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

You. 

(9-28-2011)

“You” 

He says this word pointing his finger telling me where and when it needs to change without using any other words. 

I like when he uses words. But he’s not using them this time. 

No explanation. No request made. 

This time I’m supposed to know what’s happening with the shift of his wrist. 

One finger pointed at me. Three pointed back at him. 

All three fingers are telling him what he wants to tell me. 
I wish he would simply tell me. Ask me. Treat me like a person who he said he once cared for. 

I don’t like this. This is like walking in the dark where these actions we make aren’t any clearer. 

“Clearer?”

 He says when I tell him I can’t see any clearer than before.

Before all this when I said something to him and no one else. 

No one that mattered when I said those words for only him. They still won’t matter if I tell him again. 

Because he won’t hear my words and everyone who isn’t him can still hear them. 

They’ll listen. They’ll hear all the things he’ll never take in because he’s afraid.

And he'll use my words for him against me because he’s afraid and wants to hurt me.

Hurt and facing those who think my words are without logic.

It isn’t about them. It isn’t clearer. 

“Listen…”

He says softly before lowering his hand.
I listen and wait for his words that have yet to come. 

Knowing full well if there’s a chance, I continue to listen.

I listen and hope that they don’t mistake their words for his and my words for them. 

Words aren’t as powerful as his actions. 

Actions that calmly tell me all I need to know before he says it once more quietly.

“You”  

Unbroken ~ Will

Standing.

Still.

I've found my balance

On my own.

Although I'm missing you,

I'm not missing anything.

A feeling reminds my heart 
Of your presence in it while
An ache reminds me

Of my need for freedom

And your need to be free without me. 

Resilient.

Sure of myself.

It's not bravado.

It's confidence. 

I know I'm capable.

Perfectly imperfect.

Tenacity.

Unlike a mask of weakness

Appears harsh, abrasive.

It's meant to last

When the masks crumble.

Sometimes I wonder if

It's because I'm not broken.

I used to think I was.

I wasn't. 

My resolve holds me firm.

My skeleton is lined with hope.

I heal.

I live with the scars. 

Functioning and whole 
Even when I'm missing... you.

~m.

Nicotine and Complacency

 

I believe in Nicotine but I don’t smoke. There’s a chance you don’t believe me when I tell you that I don’t smoke. Well, I really don’t for the most part. But I always enjoy a cigar. It pairs well with a nice wine when seducing the right man. Ha. It's been a bit. Needless to say, seduction is not throwing oneself at a man. 

 

Anywho... Lately I find myself amid thoughts of contentment and comfort. 

 

The last few weeks of stepping back from things and people has brought me to an awakening. I’ve been complacent, consumed by my own wants/desires and surrounded by a comfortable life. Yes, I deserve to be happy and comfortable. Everyone does. But at what cost? 

 

Look it’s never been my place to judge others. Ive messed up things in my life at an age when I should've known better too. Some people tell me it was my own subconscious trying to break free of things I didn’t truly want. Maybe it was?  I think everyone has a “tyler durden” in the back of their mind waiting to mess things up. Understand when I say what comes next I believe it. You do need to lose everything to start over otherwise you will become complacent where you are. 

 

That person or thing you are in love with, idolize and worship isn't really the thing you are in love with. It’s perception on a pedestal waiting to fall. Hell, if you’re a person like me then you are rocking the pedestal to shatter someone’s perception of you. It will eventually fail, collapse and that image will shatter anyway. Why? So they will truly appreciate the person you really are. I would prefer people are themselves instead of anything else. You can’t adore someone unless they disagree with you or stand their ground to get their own way. It shows their desire for self preservation. While the spider will eat the fly that intentionally crawls into its web, it will always look for a more challenging prey. One that resists.  

 

Personally, I know I’ve been complacent too long in order to deal with other things. I’ve allowed a few people to get away with things because I know their true nature regardless of the mask they wear. Understand, I wouldn’t deal with anyone if I didn’t know who or what I was really dealing with. I don’t have the misperception. They do. In Buddhism, the intention is not to be complacent and accept things as they are. It is to appreciate what is in the present, in order to make better choices and be responsible for our actions. The story of Siddartha demonstrates this idea of leaving behind our complacency to appreciate what is. 

 

If you don’t know, it goes a bit like this: Siddhartha was a prince. Lived in the most comfortable of palaces. He could want for nothing. His father the king wanted him to live a life without suffering so he banished all such things that could upset his son outside the city walls. Siddhartha upon the curiosity of his own humanity wanted for more. Upon seeing the suffering outside the city walls he desired to know more. Through this understanding he realized in order to gain more knowledge he would have to leave the life built upon complacency. He would have to change. 

 

Do you know what you are complacent about? Could you sacrifice it to live an authentic more rewarding life? Or will you stay with it out of desire for comfort? 

 

Here’s an old one about destroying what you love to break free…

 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m

Burn it Down

(7-25-09)

Burn it Down. Open the matchbook. Pull out one. Strike. Light. Shake it out. Drop it to the floor. This is my second book of matches. A few I’ve let burn to the tip of my fingers. Mostly I’ve just wasted them. It’s one thing to say you’ll do something and really quite another to follow through and do it. Strike. Light. Wait. Deep breath. Drop another one. What am I doing? Honestly, this isn’t sanity. I’ve lost my temper again and being alone there’s no one here to stop me. So very often it’s pacified before I ever go off on a tangent. This time I’ve pretty much destroyed the house. There are no dishes left to break. The house is empty except for some pictures that I left up and a few broken lamps needed for minimal illumination. I’ve dragged what’s left of the furniture including the couch outside and I’m debating whether I should set it ablaze. Now there’s sanity for you.

Pull out the last match. Strike. Light. Toss into the pile of debris before me. Decision made. Satisfying.

The fire jumps up into the cool night sky. Dancing higher and higher as it breathes in oxygen. The path of destruction leads to a beautiful manifestation of accomplishment. The flames crawl up into the couch and down the arm of another chair in the pile. I can distinctly make out the medallion clock that was a gift in the flames. The hands of the dial are slowly liquefying and the springs uncoil breaking free. I can only imagine what remains of the Shaker style table as it went up in flames far too quickly for me to enjoy. The brilliant colors of this bonfire are amazing as it consumes this mountain of possessions. I’m mesmerized at the beauty of my creation. She’s uncontrollable and rapidly growing. The night sky is dazzling with the intense light of the fire. Vivid yellows with hints of orange and blue. Snaps as the wooden furniture bends and breaks; Music to my ears. The colors break free and thrust themselves toward the tree in the yard. Climbing up the trunk, seizing and taking hold of the branches and jumping even higher into the night sky...

Fire, fire, burning fire, taking hold and fulfilling my desire for total destruction.

My devastation couldn’t be more magnificent. I’d simply never dreamed that anything so terrifying could hold so much beauty. The blazing inferno has reached the house. I’m powerless to stop it. Actually I’m entranced by my uncontainable rage. It’s so relaxing. I’m calm. There’s no more anger left in me. Take a seat about 100 feet back in the only lawn chair left and watch it all come down.

Just a taste

Sometimes you just want a taste. I know I do. Look, I know y'all want a bite of the new writing that almost stretched Ms. M to the point of breaking a while back, don't you? Be careful what you ask for! It's coming! ;)

Anyhoo there's nothing wrong with a taste if that's your thing. ;) You know all Buddhism suggests is things in moderation. And you know what Ms M says: Too much of anything makes you an addict. I suppose even going without something long enough could be an addiction. ;) 

Here's an old one about a lady that just wanted a taste...

Do you like to taste lots of flavors all the time or are you more of person satisfied by one?

Enjoy

Kisses, m.

Taste.
(8-3-2010)

You’re not gonna get very far if you’re looking for love. I don’t believe this. But that’s what I’m hearing tonight from the man at the bar. He can’t believe I’m wasting my time with her. I tell him not to worry. It’s just a couple of drinks. Nothing really. He says he knows my kind. The same kind that falls in love at least three times a day. I tell him if I’m lucky… only three usually it’s five times. He laughs with me getting the joke. I buy him a drink before returning back to her.

She’s easy on the eyes and has a smile like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t help but notice she doesn’t look at me when I’m talking. Not the same way I’m watching her. And I can’t stop watching her. She’s watching the door, the floor and the back corridor. Head turns and she’s licking her lips. Soft wet lips that are toying with the cherry in her Midori Sour. Bright green sets off that fire engine red like a neon sign. Every syllable makes me swim deeper and deeper in the thought of kissing those fiery red lips.

From the first moment I laid eyes on her I couldn’t help but think of kissing her. That magic moment when I knew I’d never meet her then she walked up and said hello. “You can call me Daja.” So I offered to buy her a drink. Tells me I’m absolutely delicious beneath the dimmed lights. “Divinely delectable.” Then she licks those red lips and smiles before agreeing.

Daja isn’t sitting for much longer after we finish the second round of drinks. I try to leave and she stops me by feigning sadness over my absence.
“Don’t go,” she says.
“I’m only going to the bar. We need more drinks.”
“I don’t need another drink. I just need you.”
“Alright. Tell me what you want from me.”
“Right now, I want you… to sit with me.”
“Why?”
“Why not? Sit.”
But something has her attention. Within minutes she is excusing herself and off to the ladies room. I don’t know why she made me stay. I think I see her talking to someone in the tight expanse of the back corridor, but it’s much too dark. There are bright red lips leaning inward with arms circled around a tall dark body. But it could be anyone. I get up to get another round of drinks.

“She’s not the kind of girl you’re used to.” Pipes up the old man once again. He‘s nursing another long neck and I’m ordering another round. I tell him to explain. Says she just the kind for the evening. A bird that flies at night if I get his drift. I ask him what exactly is drift is. He says that there’s more to be seen by the likes of my kind. I nod and turn my head. The bartender tells me to keep it down and wait my turn. I look around for Daja. She isn’t back yet. I’m reminded to mind my own business in the company of strangers.
“Don’t be stubborn, now” he speaks up again.
“Yeah,” I try to speak without an attitude, but it’s hard to miss.
“Yeah that bird ain’t the scene. Watch your step around that one. She’s a bit wild.”
“Good to know. Thanks for the advice. Bartender those drinks?”
Bartender ignores me and keeps after the other patrons. Daja is no where to be seen. My strange friend keeps on talking. There’s a ruckus in the back of the bar, but the old man stops me quick.
“Listen up. Listen good. Better men haven’t been the same since she got her claws into em.”
“What?”
“Tell me the truth. Ever been in trouble? Cause that’s trouble.”
I shake my head, but he keeps on talking. Rumors and tales. I’m not hearing much, but it keeps coming. Hospitals, homicides and suicides. He goes through at least ten or more before I’ve had enough. Cause this last one has a pair of teeth in that bites into my head. Literally.

There’s something unmistakable about her teeth. I’ve been seeing it all night. I can’t completely put my finger on it, but it is completely captivating. The way she curls her tongue against the front and makes a whistle sound with her ‘esses’ is not like anything else. Far from displeasing like a lisp. Intoxicating. I think that’s why I prefer her talking. I’m absolutely hypnotized by it. Nothing I could say could be interesting. Even talking about her bubble gum flavored Tic-Tacs is captivating. All I can see is her mouth move. When it makes the shape of an ‘o’ it’s more than arousing. When she moves her lips everything I’m supposed to be thinking about is no longer important. I’d burn down the building if she asked me to. Hell, I’d kill the bartender if she asked me to. I want those lips. I want to tear them off her face and eat them I'm so sick with desire. I can taste her kiss.

Daja has her bright red lips wrapped around my neck in a tiny grip. Those lovely incisors are creating just enough pain for me to enjoy it. She reminds me we don’t need drinks. I agree and walk away. We aren’t in love, but this is more than just a few drinks among strangers. I ask her about the bathroom. She smiles and talks about a line. I just keeping nodding and we leave. I don’t know why we’re leaving. Daja keeps saying “Come on.”

There’s a commotion as we exit the bar. No one is watching us leave. There’s the shrill sound of several women screaming as we walk out into the parking lot. I’m watching her lips. Not her face. Just those lips. Focused. It doesn’t matter that her lipstick is smeared. Or that there’s a spot of something on her forehead. She’s watching me walk. Watching me steady, with a desire in her eye. Watching me the same way I was watching her glide through the bar earlier. I try thinking if she was there already and I can’t remember. That moment before her lips seems to go all fuzzy. Fuzzy like the light outside of a misty window. Not quite clear, but you know its day or night by the shape of the shadows.

She laughs and tells me “I’m hungry.”
“Let’s get something to eat.”
“Alright honey, how about right now?”
“There’s nothing here.”
“Oh. Don’t be silly. Of course there is.”
She looks me up and down then makes that “o” with her lips. That captivating outline. Enticing. It’s all over with again. I’m nodding. Listening.
“Now honey, you’re gonna come with me and let me have a tiny nibble on that lovely body of yours.”
“Yes. I will.”

It hurts so bad to hear the words, but I can help but go along with it. I could walk away but I don't want to. I’m hers and she knows it. That pretty smile and red lips. Lips I want to taste. Need to taste. I’m following her deeper and deeper into the nothingness of the night. I forget about my car. Forget I have a name. I just want to go with her. I want her to take a taste. It’s ok.

There’s nothing sinister about it. We’re walking in the dark until I’m completely enticed in a paralysis. Frozen as Deja undresses me like a peeling the skin off of a chicken breast. Once bare, she takes those pretty teeth and sinks them into me. It isn’t my neck or mouth she wants. I still want those lips. Completely aroused by their movements. I want them to chew off my face. But that’s not what she’s doing. I can’t help the satisfaction I’m getting as she devours my flesh. It’s absolutely gratifying and I want her to keep going. Keep tasting.

Piece after piece, paring as she makes her way up and down. Tasting. It’s intoxicating. I can feel everything. There’s nothing but those red lips. In this moment I don’t exist. I’m where I need to be. My body aches and twinges as she works. But I don’t want her to stop. More fulfilling than anything else. Those teeth are hypnotic. Every one of them. Razor sharp. Special. White. Brighter in the dark than the light. Something about them is still the same. I can’t place it. Smiling bright red lips look my direction. They’re slowing. I can’t see her face. I don’t care. Just those lips. I want them more than I did earlier. My mind is running towards it. Calling me. Closer. In my reach. A taste. A touch. A kiss. I’m alive by those lips. She’s done. I’m satisfied. I don’t believe it… Nothing else matters.